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Devastation of Shuira
"The night lit up, plasma fire, gauss flayers, bolterfire. We prayed and prayed, but all that awnsered them were things from the stars... dark things... deadly things."- ''A Shuira PDF survivor Shuira was a lnight world of little renoun, home to an average population and out of the path of most Imperial trade routes. However it was home to various dark secrets, the formost being a Chaotic artifact of great power, and the dark warband of Traitors, the Archfeinds would decend for it. But they were not the only ones seeking the relic, the renowned Gem-Heart Thief, Berheven Jirlis who was being sought by Blackteef Tribe orks and Keshke'Hwa Dynasty Warrior also saught to steal the relic. Chapter One: Da Blasta "C'mon ya gitz! Git da rokkz flyen and blast dem umies!" Tuska Face'Melta roared as his Kill Krooza came out of the Warp, knowing the world they were decending upon was likely to have defenders, and the Undaboss wanted to cut off any hope of his target fleeing. Tuska picked his blacktoothed maw with a stray squig bone from the simple scrap plate that lay on the small table next to his command throne at the brinde of the Krooza. "Of all da zoggen roks..." he started as the cracked and static ridden veiwscreen showed the meger Imperial fleet against the backdrop of a pitch black night world. The star system istelf was very dim and bleak, it looked dead, depressing. "'Ow com we neva get ter fight on a tek wurld er sumthen?" Tuska murmered to himself, it had been too long since he and his boyz had enjoyed a real fight, every time a WAAAGH! rolled around the Masta would stick him and his boyz on some posh side job. "Bekauz ur lot ain't ment fer propa fighten." Tuska almost jumped out of his throne, it was the Lu-Tenent, Bomchommpa. The Masta's right hand Ork and the reason Tuskas boyz were relegated to sacking this world. Under any normal circumstances, Tuska would have beaten the oversized Nob silly for that remark, but Bomchommpa was the personal hitman of the Masta, the great Ork Warlord of the genious Blackteef Tribe. Rather than the traditional beating, Tuska merely snorted "Wacha mean?!" Bomchommpa merely rolled his beedy red eyes and clacked his two metal jaws together. Tuskas patiants was wearing thin with this Nob, first he commendeers his fleet, THEN he leads them on a wild goose chace through space, first a desert world, then a volcainic death world, the list went on and on. Tuska hauled himself out of the throne, his armored bulk on full display. "Wacha...Mean?" He said with a threating tone. Bomchommpa stared the Undaboss down, rolled his thick, muscular shoulders and simply headbutted him. The crack made every Ork on the bridge freeze, they were dumbstruck, nobody messed with Tuska, he was one of the most brutal Blackteef Orkz in existance. And yet here was this Nob, one of the Mastas favorites but nonetheless a Nob, who had just headbutted the Undaboss with such force that he tumbled head over heels. "I said, ur lot ain't ment fer propa fighten, yer a bunch a dumb gitz betta at dis grot wurk. Now yer gonna take dat rok and ur gonna gimme az many boyz az I need, ur I'ma sock ya so 'ard yur gonna ferget what itz like ta 'ave teef." Tuska slowly righted himself, and grudgingly nodded. Bomchommpa took his leave, moving with near perfect scilence, odd for a creature with such bulk. Tuska retook his throne and glared at the planet, all his anger and hate at being stuck with the grunt work now focused on the black little world. "ALRIGHT YOU ZOGGEN GROT LUVERZ!" He bellowed "GIT ON DAT ROK AND TEAR DA 'OL PLACE APART!!!" _______________________________________________________________________________________ Bomchommpa looked over the crumpled peice of paper, the order that had been handed to him at least eighty years ago, but Orkz have a very skewed sence of time, thus to Bomchommpa, it was as if he had gotten it only yesterday. He understood the need for secrecy as he read it, the Masta rarely sent written missives, but zog if this one wasen't important. 'First Lu-Tenent Bomchommpa,' The Nob read the words once more, scrawled in an Ork dialect nearly indesipherable by any other race or Klan. 'It haz com to my attention dat my Kustom Blasta, Blastsick, haz been kidnapped by filty Eldar skum. Find dis zoggen, pointey eared, poshed up, panzy and perferat 'em!'... 'P.S. Don ferget to git Blastskick bak too!' Bomchommpa silently nodded, as if to assure himself that the deed will soon be done. He had hunted that blasted eldar across the stars with nothing more but this band of imputent fools, an achievment in Bomchommpas eyes. Tuskas boyz may be tough, but Bomchommpa, by proxy through the Masta, never felt they were particularly good at being Blackteef. They were too zelous and dumb to be tactical or stealthy, still, they had their uses on the side campaigns. Bomchommpa then hurried to the hangars, strapping on his massive plasma powered jump pack and charging his kustom blasta. Finally, he unsheathed his massive power sword he had tied to his waist, it was a crude looking weapon, warped and pitted, but the loud thrum ment it was ready to chop whole Space Marines in half. It was chaos in the hangar, boyz and their nobs running left and right, piling into whatever transportation could carry them. Engeineer grots scampered to and fro, ensuring nothing had a chance to fall apart until it got to the surface. Bomchommpa waded through the sea, backhanding the occassional boy who didn't get out of his way fast enough, he passed a mob of Blitz Boyz, marching in single file onto their dropship. Bomchommpa then found them, his personal mob of Blitz Gitz, the four massive nobs were busy kicking a small grot around in a circle. "Oi!" Bomchommpa shouted over the din of the hangar, the Blitz Gitz all turned to face him, then nodded in unison, understanding that now was the time. They all piled onto the nearest dropship, a Minelayer that had been gutted to carry boyz instead, they yanked out the mob that had already taken up the spot and piled in. "Remeba da objektiv boyz." Bomchommpa growled "Get da blasta, da rest iz optional." Chapter Two: Archite's Arrival "Arriving at Shuira, Archite Ka'lah'ar'shar." ringed the monotonous voice from the Voidcraft's center Dimir as the Voidcraft exited it's shutter-lane. "Primitive Voidcraft detect Archite, origins indicate Orkoids" spoke the blank voice as the Dimir auspexs scanned the Orkoid Kill Krooza. "Auspexs indicate it's class is Cruiser, with vast amounts of armor and weaponry" the voice spoke as Archite Ka'lah'ar'shar tapped his long bladed claws against his command chair before speaking "Alkaira, begin a scanning of the planet I wish to know it's population and general statics". At those words Alkaira, the Dimir controlling the ship, began to scan the planet for any piece of information it could pick up while the Ship's crew began to move into action without a word. The Hell Legion stationed within the Dimir Dreadnought began to prepare themselves for the upcoming engagement. The hugemongus Golems moving slowly placing their gigantic equipment upon their metal hides, as slashers sharpened their claws against their arms, and shredders prepared their render weaponry. "Archite Kal'lah'ar'shar, the auspexs have finished scanning the planet, and the data is now transferring to your private data banks". As the data transferred to the Archite's data banks Ka'la'ar'shar began to speak to his entire crew through the ship's speakers. "My fellow Dimir, long have we forgotten the pains of flesh, long have we used our bio-engines to fuel our war engines and our great forges of art, and now our engines are running dry and I ask you one question. Will you let them fall and rot or will you descend upon this world and teach the flesh beings that the Dimir will not stand idle like they do as their God decays upon a throne of blood and gore. LET OUR MOTHER DIMIRA STAND ETERNAL AS OUR BIO-ENGINES SHALL AFTER WE EMPTY THIS WORLD OF IT'S MISUNDERSTOOD POTENTIAL!" With those words, the Dimir Hell Legions began the process of descending down upon the fleshling, their blood ichor boiling with the fever of zealotic rage and fury. Chapter 3: Awakening "Establishing Trans-space connection...Connection established. Requesting Permission to launch Raid. awaiting response." For Sixty years Lord Herakvan waited, his outpost that he had prepared near invisible within the deep forests of the world avoided by the superstitious mortals. For sixty years his twenty Immortals stood resolute and unchanging as they oversaw the various Siege Drones and Watchers who worked on the hidden fortress. For Sixty years only five Guardians stood in defense of the raid lord of the Keshke'Hwa. "Trans-space response received. Objective: Tech-reliquary, priority downgraded to Secondary Objective...New Primary Objective: Subject: Eldar-Berheven Jirlis, Mission: capture. Full force use permitted." Instantly the long awaited protocols were activated with the response from the Dynasty's Phaeron. Herakvan and his twenty-five warriors began to activate sixty year dormant systems and for the first time in each of those years began to move for themselves. Weapons were given power, and as leathal autolysis radiation leaked from the weapons used by Mechanical warriors the plant-life that had overgrown the Necron's hidden fortress began to foam and die further freeing and easing the movements of the long unmoving Necron. The night once again was Moonless and Starless, the only light to see by was that emitted by the Necron themselves, though Necron needed no light by which to see. Slowly the task-force of twenty-five necron, their lord, and the dozens of Siege Scarabs and Watcher Drones around them made for the first Mortal encampment. It was a poorly built fortress with over-thick and short walls with far too many blind points in the defense, currently torch bearing defenders marched along the perimeter of the defenses futilely seeking any invaders...Herakvan would take this fortress slowly for the sake of the needed practice. Chapter 4: Doom has Come Adros Kanar, Dark Apostle of the Archfiends, looked upon a soon to be dead world. From the bridge of his Strike Cruiser, the ''Blasphemer, the planet seemed almost peaceful, still unaware of the impending doom that would befall it. Adros could picture it: the shouts and screams of the dying mortals, the sweet music of blade and bolt conecting with flesh, the shouts of his warriors as they sang praise to the Dark Gods. It would glorious, it would be- "My lord." said Tamik Sryn, his right hand and Sorcerer of the Archfiends 5th Host. Tamik was a figure of rune-carved power armor and dark robes, his face obscured by the folds of his hood. "Everything is in place, we can launch the attack at your command." "Look at that planet Tamik, and tell me what you see." replied Adros, gesturing at the planet below. Tamik stared at lone shape of the Night World for a moment, before saying; "I see the location of the relic we seek." "Wrong!" answered Adros, rising from his command throne. "I see a world that does not yet know true power, the true power of the Gods! They remain blind, ignorant, unaware of the power that lurks beyond the veil of reality. I see a world that is in need of enlightenment.... and who are we to deny them that?" Tamik simply shrugged, knowing better than to argue with the zealous Apostle. "Shall I ready the troops...?" Adros grinned maliciously. The leader of the 5th Host was a formidable figure, standing at almost nine feet tall, clad in ornate power armor decorated with symbols and icons of the Chaos Gods, a cloak of flayed skin hanging from his shoulders. He wore no helmet, and thus his nightmarish face was visible, a mess of unholy tatoos and ritual scars, with a pair of eyes that looked as if they could burn through adimantium. His weapon, a mace with a head forged into the shape of the Star of Chaos, hung from his belt, a symbol of his rank and authority over his fellow Chaos Space Marines. "Today we go to war!" Adros yelled, his voice like stone grating on steel. "Today we are the doom of Shuria!" Category:Battles Category:Stories